Falling Slowly
by irishwoodkern
Summary: When Joe Corbin approaches Abbie and Crane looking for help, little do they know of the turmoil that will follow. The whole of Sleepy Hollow becomes embroiled in chaos as the Apocalypse seems to creep ever closer. The Witnesses encounter a young witch whose fate appears entwined with theirs, and it seems, that of the whole world. *Rating changed for some violence.*
1. Chapter 1

More than anything, Abbie wanted to believe that it was over. She had spent the last year fighting a war with the forces of Hell, losing friends along the way and living in a constant state of uncertainty about her future. The part of her brain that knew that Santa Claus wasn't real insisted that the lull that had occurred since Katrina and Henry's deaths two months before was a temporary one.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her how much she relished the thrill of combat. Despite the fear and pain that the rise of Moloch had inflicted on her life, she couldn't deny the fact that she lived for this shit. Nights spent huddled in the Archives with Crane, researching arcane languages and coming up with strategies to defeat the latest ghoul that besieged the town – all of it was fuel for her inner adrenaline-junkie.

Every time she felt that familiar itch coming on, she forced herself to remember the anguish that Crane must be going through. It was bad enough that he had lost the only family he had left – as warped and fragmented as that family was. What made it infinitely worse was the fact he had driven the knife into his wife's heart. He had killed the woman for whom he had risked everything.

She sat at her desk, wading through stacks of reports on suspicious activities around Sleepy Hollow in the past few weeks. An unexplained electrical discharge at a substation on Fremont that threatened an inferno in the nearby forest park, in addition to several reported cases of telekinesis and a large number of petty crimes that had "a distinct odour of brimstone" as Crane would say.

She longed to drive out to the cabin and tell Crane to suit up and ready for battle, but something stopped her. The more time that went by, the more she became convinced that her feelings for him had changed forever. Looking back, she realised that she had been squashing her emotions since Katrina's return. She was awash with guilt – ashamed to think that she had once secretly considered Crane a burden.

Now all she could think was how she wanted him. More than that, she wanted to take care of him. She knew it was partially his grief that she recognised. As a fellow survivor of unbearable loss, she felt his pain almost like a physical wound. The sense of intimacy was so strong that she felt compelled to keep her distance. She could see the hurt and confusion in Crane's eyes when he saw her back away from him.

'Hey there, Abbie.' A soft voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up and saw the familiar blue eyes and handsome face that made her heart leap.

'Joey!' She jumped up and flung her arms around the broad shoulders of Joe Corbin. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded once she deemed him properly hugged. 'You're supposed to be in Quantico!'

'Yeah, about that…' he scratched his head distractedly. His military buzz-cut had grown out and he now wore it in a messy style that suited his defined features. 'Can we go somewhere and talk – maybe grab a drink?'

Abbie grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. 'I've got a better idea,' she said, finally biting the bullet.

* * *

Crane place cups of freshly-brewed coffee in front of Joe and Abbie before sitting at the table. Though both of his guests preferred their favourite caffeinated beverage in its natural state, he took his with a splash of milk.

'It is a pleasure to see you again, Joe, but I assume you intended more than just a social call?'

'You could say that,' Joe replied grimly. He regarded them both solemnly. 'I need your help.'

'Whatever you need,' Abbie said immediately.

'You guys went above and beyond the call last time, and I have to ask you to do the same again.'

Abbie looked at Crane for the first time, a sense of dread sinking in.

'The same?' Crane uttered with a tone of trepidation.

Joe looked as if getting the words out required a huge physical effort. 'It's back,' he finally said, the hint of a sob barely concealed. 'The wendigo – it's back.'

'How is that possible?' Crane asked. 'The shaman ritual worked – did it not?'

'It did, for months it worked. Until a week ago, a few of us were doing a five-mile run one morning before class. One of my friends, Rachel did a face-plant right in the dirt. It messed up her face really bad – blood everywhere. It wasn't until later that I started to feel it.'

'Oh God,' Abbie groaned. 'Tell me nobody got hurt.'

'Thankfully no – other than a deer. I woke in the middle of a forest next morning. Didn't remember anything, but there was a hollowed-out carcass not ten feet away from me. That's why I'm here – I didn't know who else I could turn to.'

Crane stood up and began pacing with determination. 'We must contact our Shawnee friends again.'

'No,' Abbie countered. 'There's something bigger going on here. The last two weeks I've seen dozens of unexplainable events like this all over Sleepy Hollow and beyond. It's weird – it's almost as if something is awakening supernatural powers lying dormant here.'

Joe looked somewhat relieved. 'Then there's a reason for this. It's not just me.'

'Yeah, it's not just you.' Abbie smiled affectionately. 'And I swear we'll do everything we can to help figure this out.'

'Thanks,' Joe stood, his military bearing still evident after all this time. 'Meantime, I want you to lock me in the Masons' cell like last time. There's no way I'm risking innocent people's lives.'

* * *

Abbie wanted nothing more than to go home and sink into a hot bath, but Crane's voice arrested her as they exited the tunnels.

'Lieutenant, may I ask if there is something amiss?'

She sighed and faced him. 'Nothing's amiss, Crane. We're cool – I'm just tired, that's all.'

'Are you sure? It seems that for some weeks, our interactions have been somewhat… strained. I wonder if I have done something to offend you.'

She turned to look at him, seeing for the first time the depth of the pain in his eyes. 'It's nothing you've done, Crane, honest. I just figured I'd give you your space, let you sort stuff out.' She winced at the half-truths she was uttering.

'"Stuff" meaning the deaths of my wife and son. Believe me, Lieutenant, I shall recover all the quicker once normality returns – though in our world normality is anything but.'

Abbie allowed herself a wan smile.

'Your friendship is invaluable to me, Abbie,' he said with a hint of emotion creeping into his voice. 'I beg your patience during this trying time.'

Reaching forward, Abbie touched the edge of his cuff in a gesture of solidarity. She felt ashamed for having neglected him all this time, and knew that she would have to push her feelings aside and be his friend and partner, just like always.

Her phone rang, making her start. 'Lieutenant Mills?'

'Hey Abbie, it's Donna.' Donna was the young dispatcher at the station. She was in awe of Abbie and secretly longed to be her best friend. 'Sheriff Reyes wants you back at the station. They've brought in a suspect in a murder – a twenty-year-old female. The victim was her roommate, but apparently there are weird aspects to the case so Reyes had me call you. After that cult a few months back, you're like the go-to gal for freaky stuff, right?'

'I'll be right over.' Abbie ended the call and looked Crane in the eye. 'Time to go to work.'


	2. Chapter 2

As Abbie entered the interrogation room, she saw the profile of a petite female figure slumped in a chair, her hands shackled on the table in front of her. The first thing Abbie noticed about her was her leg shaking so violently that it was hard to tell if it was deliberate or unconscious.

The girl was no more than nineteen or twenty, though the hooded top she wore made it difficult to know for sure. She was dressed in a pleated skirt with knee-high socks, black figureless gloves and combat boots. Her face was daubed with heavy foundation, eyeliner and lipstick several shades too dark. In short, she looked like a reject from Comic-Con.

It didn't help that she wore her bleached hair in messy pigtails or wore a petulant expression that she should have grown out of years before.

'My name is Lieutenant Abbie Mills.' Abbie sat down at the table and glanced at the arrest forms in front of her. 'You're Sally Chang, am I right?'

The girl nodded wordlessly. Abbie took the opportunity to examine Sally's face. Despite her surname, there was only the smallest hint of her Asian heritage, but it seemed that the makeup was an attempt to hide her ethnicity – as well as everything else.

'Can you tell me what happened tonight?' Abbie's voice was gentle, reassuring. She was aware of how terrified the girl must be, and felt that she needed her help rather than her judgement.

'I don't know,' Sally replied in a small voice. 'I swear to God, I don't know.'

'According to one of the arresting officers, you said "I didn't mean to do it. I was angry, but I didn't mean it".' Abbie paused, confronting the girl with her own words and allowing them to sink in. 'Whatever happened in your apartment, I can only help you if you tell me the truth.'

Sally stared at her hands for a long time. Abbie saw her peeling crimson polish from her chewed finger nails. This girl was a nervous wreck, and whatever had occurred earlier that night was obviously the tip of the iceberg.

Finally, the words came out, slow and quiet and scared. 'You're going to think I'm crazy.'

She let out a laugh like a little sob, but Abbie's gaze was sympathetic and unflinching.

'I don't know what's happening to me. A couple of months ago I started feeling out of control and emotional. I thought it was my period or I was getting depressed again.' She paused. 'I had problems growing up,' she said by way of explanation and then continued, 'But then stuff started happening – things would move without me touching them, lights started switching off and on randomly, and then tonight…'

Abbie stayed silent, watching the girl struggle for words. She was beginning to see connections with the strange events that had been happening in Sleepy Hollow of late. Joe's arrival and now the arrest of this girl seemed to be a culmination of something, or perhaps a frightening portent of things to come.

'We got into a fight.' Sally's voice was shaky, like she was about to break into tears. 'I can't even remember, maybe it was about food or something. She had a kettle in her hand, and all I kept focusing on was the kettle, even when she was talking. I was focusing so hard on the goddamn kettle I couldn't even hear what she was saying anymore. I was just so… angry. And then she plugged it into the outlet, and just…'

Abbie carefully angled the file towards herself and examined the crime scene photos. The dead girl's body was frozen in a pose that she recognised from other electrocution cases. It was a disturbing sight, but not nearly as disturbing as the implications of what Sally Chang was saying. The girl was clearly telekinetic, it seemed that she had accidentally killed her roommate, and if she was set free there was a good chance that she would kill again.

* * *

Abbie entered the Archives at speed, responding to Crane's urgent message. She had been at the station for most of the night, finishing up the interrogation and giving strict but subtle instructions to the guards to treat Sally Chang very gingerly.

Crane sat in his usual position at the table poring over the newspapers clippings and police reports files that she had been perusing the night before. She glanced quickly around the room.

'Hey, where's Joe – he still in the Masons' cell?'

Crane shook his head. 'He left early. He had to return to Virginia to arrange a leave of absence from Quantico. Did you learn anything from the suspect?'

Abbie rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. 'Plenty, but nothing that makes much sense. Your message sounded important – have you found something?'

'I was skimming over your research into the strange occurrences in town. Looking for something which connects and could explain why they are happening now.'

'And you've found it, I assume?' Abbie was surprised at the sarcastic note in her voice. She was tired – she told herself – that was surely the reason. She could not help feeling a little irritated that Crane – going through her work mind you – had found a connection that she had missed. She was aware that there was another element at work, the feelings for Crane that had recently surfaced and that she would do anything to hide.

The look of confusion on Crane's face showed that her tone had not gone unnoticed. 'I may have,' he replied meekly. 'The event which can safely be inferred to be the first in the series occurred on the 27th of October.' He glanced at her, clearly expecting her to understand the importance of the date.

'I'm sorry, Crane. What…?'

'That was the night Henry Parrish caused the town bell to ring, using a spell intended to summon witches.'

He said it so matter-of-factly that Abbie immediately felt like a heel. Of course he made the connection – he was Ichabod Crane, the polymath Revolutionary professor with a photographic memory. He was her partner, the one supposed to take up the slack when she was too exhausted or overwhelmed to function.

To hear him say his dead son's name aloud for the first time since his death was like a punch in the gut. All of those feelings – the betrayal of Katrina and her subsequent death, not to mention Henry's death at her own hands – they were still too close to home. This was the first time either one of them had made an allusion to those painful memories. It was like a spell had suddenly been broken, allowing them to deal with the unspoken anguish and fear of the past few months.

'Oh, Crane…' Abbie placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and solidarity. They shared a glance that was long and full of meaning, absent their usual wordy discussions, but it conveyed enough.

She sat down at her side of the table and stretched hugely. 'Son of a bitch. It was right there and I didn't see it. Henry awoke something when he rang that bell – something big.'

'Lieutenant,' Crane leaned forward with intent. 'If the spell was powerful enough to break the shaman's incantation on Joe Corbin, then Henry's intent was to summon more than just a coven of witches. It was as if he called forth the agents of hell – an army of evil to rekindle Moloch's plans for the Apocalypse.'

Abbie was thoughtful. 'I think he may have brought back at least one witch. The girl I questioned last night – Sally Chang – she accidentally killed her best friend by electrocution. From what I could discern, her powers have been coming on gradually for the past couple of months. Maybe she always had them, lying dormant, but now we have a powerful witch on our hands.'

The fear on Crane's face was evident. 'If she is a witch, then without guidance she may well fall to darkness. It is our duty as Witnesses to try and guide her. Perhaps we can find a way to use her powers for good.'

'Crane.' Abbie's voice was a warning. 'We've been burned by witches in the past. That kind of unrestricted power is too much for one person – they've shown that they can turn on a dime.' She was careful not to mention Katrina by name, but the implication was clear.

'I have learned from my mistakes, Lieutenant.' Crane avoided her eyes this time, his face ashen. 'I was deluded by my faith in Katrina. Her love for Henry was her downfall, just as my love for her was mine. I hope I know better now.'

There was a moment of quiet as each of them contemplated what they were about to face. The war against Moloch had given each of them a sense of purpose, knowing exactly who their enemy was. Now their opponents were everywhere, fighting a shadowy war whose strategy was as mysterious as its endgame.

'Whatever happens, we have each other,' Abbie said with determination. She felt a sudden belief that they would come out of this victorious. Perhaps it was born of walking through Purgatory, or travelling back through time, or facing a demon and coming out swinging on the other side. Perhaps it came from the logic that they had survived so far, and there was no reason to believe that they would not continue to do so. One thing she knew for sure was that, despite his mistakes – his unwavering belief in Katrina's honesty, his fatal need to reclaim a life and family lost to him – she never would have made it this far alone.

'Moloch and his little bitches have tried and failed to tear us apart. We are Witnesses chosen by God, and if any of them want to come here and mess with us, they better bring all the armies of hell with them, because I'm ready.'

Crane gazed at her with a look of boundless admiration and fondness. 'We're ready,' he corrected.


	3. Chapter 3

Joe Corbin was aware that something was different from the moment he entered the Archives. His senses were heightened – a feeling he could only compare to nights on patrol in Afghanistan. He recognised the feeling of being hunted, of knowing that he had to stay alert or die. He could trace this sudden shift back to the night when he realised that he was becoming the wendigo once again.

'Hello?' His voice was firm, even though dread gripped his insides like a vice. 'Abbie, you there?'

A girl appeared from behind one of the large bookcases that lined the room. His first instinct was to laugh – one part relief, one part amusement at her theatrical appearance. She looked like a doll or a Karijuku wannabe, even though he guessed that she was closer to his age.

'Hi,' he blurted out. 'Who are you?'

The girl glanced around her nervously, unwilling or unable to speak. As the silence continued into infinity, Joe felt irritated by her reticence. 'I'm Joe Corbin – a friend of Abbie's. Is she here?'

At that moment, Abbie appeared at the door, a huge smile illuminating her face. 'Hey, stranger! What, you decided to skip town without telling me?'

Joe embraced her affectionately. 'I told Crane I had some things to sort out in Virginia. I want to be here, in case… anything happens.'

Abbie noticed Sally lurking by the bookshelves. 'You've met Sally, I see.'

'Yeah, I didn't catch her name.' By time he turned back to her, she had slunk off into a far recess of the Archives.

'What's her story?' Joe asked in a low voice.

Abbie rolled her eyes, partially in exhaustion, but mostly at the weirdness of the situation. 'She was brought in on a murder charge, but it was dropped due to lack of evidence. Seems like she might be an actual witch.'

'A witch?' Joe's eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. 'I guess I shouldn't be surprised by anything these days. She seems a bit… odd.'

'She has good reason to be,' Abbie grimaced. 'It turns out her parents died in a murder-suicide back when she was a toddler. She grew in foster-care like me.' A wistful expression passed over Abbie's face, one that Joe knew well. Those were the times when her eyes would glaze over and she would get lost in memories of a childhood a million miles from his own happy upbringing.

'And you think you can help her?'

'Maybe – or maybe she can help us. I'm hoping she can learn to control her powers with the help of Grace Dixon's journal.'

Joe felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. There was a part of him – he hated to admit the fact –that was still the little boy that Abbie used to care for. The moment he experienced the horrible realisation that the wendigo had returned, he desperately looked for a source of comfort or hope amidst the misery and fear. He grasped onto the idea of returning to Sleepy Hollow with fervour, of being reunited with Abbie and Jenny – even Crane. Now there was an unknown factor in the equation and he did not like it one bit.

* * *

'What do you think of this Sally business?' Joe was aware that the silence inside the car was becoming uncomfortable.

Jenny plucked her coffee cup from its holder and took a thoughtful sip. 'It's weird, I'm not gonna deny it. I'm the last person to judge but, jeez, she murdered her best friend over an argument. You gotta wonder what she's capable of.'

Joe stared at her in shock. 'Abbie told me she was released… There wasn't enough evidence or something.'

'Yeah, but she totally did it.' Jenny glanced at him sidelong, a morbid grin on her face. 'Sheriff Reyes just couldn't make the charges stick because… well, witchcraft.'

Just as Joe was struggling to absorb this shocking information, they pulled up outside a dilapidated building. It had the look of an old auto repair-cum-chop shop and it appeared to be run by a number of tough-looking Native Americans.

Jenny pulled on a pair of sunglasses to shield against the noonday sun. 'Let me do the talking.'

* * *

Joe and Jenny re-entered the Archives, the failure of their outing evident from their expressions.

Abbie raised her head from the _Malleus Maleficarum_ and took in their downbeat demeanours. 'No joy?'

Jenny shook her head. 'Big Ash said there wasn't much he or the shaman could do, not after the last time. He said for something to undo a spell like that, it must involve a powerful and evil magic. His words, not mine.'

'Oh, Joe.' Abbie got to her feet, her first instinct to comfort him if required. 'I swear we'll figure this out. We'll find out what's behind this and fix it.'

Joe walked away distractedly before stopping suddenly and turning back to face her. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me about the girl? About her murdering her friend?'

'Shh!' Abbie turned to check if Sally had overheard, but she appeared to be sitting unperturbed in her corner, concentrating fiercely on Grace Dixon's journal.

'You don't think we have a right to know if we're in danger? After what Jenny told me happened with Crane's wife?'

Crane turned from the bookshelf where he stood, cataloguing their collection of alchemical manuscripts. He had been disturbed by Joe's irrational dislike for Sally from the beginning and was irritated to have Katrina's name used to bolster an argument.

The stress and lack of sleep of the last few days, the concern for Sally and worry for Joe – everything suddenly culminated in Abbie, stretching her temper beyond its limits. 'If I thought anyone's life was in danger, do you think for one second I would've let you past the front door?'

She saw the look of shock and dismay on Joe's face and wondered if she had gone too far. 'You're afraid of hurting people – I know that. Well so is she. Don't put your stuff on her – it's not fair.'

Sally appeared to have heard every word spoken between them because she stood up, closed the journal and walked out of the room. Crane gave Joe a baleful look and followed. He caught up with her in the stairwell.

'Miss Sally, might I have a word?'

The gentleness in his tone arrested her. She sat down and began to weep openly. 'Aren't you scared of me – scared of what I could do?' she said with difficulty. 'I killed someone… I killed Michaela.'

'I am frightened by many things, but you are not amongst them.' Crane sat down beside her. 'Mostly by the thought that my selfishness and arrogance might once again cause harm to those I love.'

Sally stared at her hands for a while. 'Joe hates me. He's right to – he knows I'm a risk to all of you.'

'Master Corbin has his own burdens to bear – as do we all. My own wife…' The word came out somewhere between a cough and a sob. The grief was still raw like an open wound, overwhelming him with pain when he least expected it. 'My wife was a witch who fell to darkness. She would have unleashed Hell on Earth for the love of our son. She tried to take the life of Lieutenant Mills and I…' he paused, his words thick with emotion. 'I could not allow that to happen. Katrina met her end by my hands.'

'You killed her?' Sally's eyes met his for the first time. 'It's different though – you didn't have a choice.'

When Crane spoke again, his voice was as controlled and measured as ever. 'Neither did you. You did not ask for these powers, and so you cannot be truly blamed for what happened to your friend. Lieutenant Mills brought you here to ensure that such an accident will never happen again, but I want you to know, Sally Chang, that you are amongst friends. You are not alone.'

Sally's eyes were wet, but this time her tears were not from guilt or self-pity. For the first time since Crane knew her, he saw a tentative smile flit across her face.

'Crane?' Abbie's voice came from above.

'Do excuse me.' Crane stood and gave a small bow. He climbed upwards and joined Abbie in the corridor outside the stairwell. 'Has something occurred?'

'I just got a call from dispatch – there's been a report of a break-in at a crime scene downtown.' She lowered her voice slightly. 'It's Sally's place – it's been totally ransacked, but nothing was taken. Whoever broke in was looking for something.'

'Looking for someone, more like it.' Crane appeared grave. 'It appears that whoever is responsible for summoning Miss Sally and Master Corbin's darker incarnations is hunting for her.'

'So what do we do – maintain a 24-hour guard on her?'

'Perhaps. But whatever we do, Lieutenant, we must remain vigilant. The powers of darkness are merciless when it comes to human life, and they will stop at nothing to achieve their goal.'

* * *

It was just before midnight, but sleep evaded Joe. It was bad enough that he was chained to the wall of the Masons' cell, but every time he closed his eyes, the trainee witch in the corner would start up again.

The ever-resourceful Crane had rigged up a makeshift bed for her to sleep in, and apparently practise her magic on. Nobody would tell him how long he would be sharing the cell with her, just that she would be staying there as a security precaution.

For the past three hours, she had been muttering the same incantation – Grace Dixon's journal balanced on her lap, a small twig in the palm of her hand. Though still bruised after the stern talking-to Abbie had given him, he tried to be sympathetic to what she was going through. He shuddered when he imagined what might have happened to him had it not been for Abbie and Crane. Still, every so often he would feel a powerful impulse to rip the head from her shoulders.

 _Cool it, Joe_ , he told himself. _That's the wendigo talking._

'What are you doing?' he finally asked, impressed at how calm he sounded, despite the circumstances.

'It's a spell,' she replied distractedly. She stared fixedly at the twig in her hand. 'A transformation spell.'

'Oh great – a transformation spell,' he muttered. 'And what are you transforming it into – a forest?'

She looked at him shyly, cowed by his mockery. 'It's supposed to sprout leaves.'

'So how does that help us? We could be attacked by the trees from _The Evil Dead,_ I guess.'

He knew that it was a combination of weariness, frustration and a hint of the wendigo that make him taunt her, but he could not bring himself to feel guilty.

'You really want to know or are you just gonna screw around?' There was a hint of steel in Sally's voice that Joe that not heard before.

He peered at her with curiosity. 'Tell me,' he uttered – a hint of trepidation in his voice.

She sighed. 'If it works, it'll help you control your turning.'

Joe was struck dumb – the sudden prospect of an end to his misery dangled in front of him like a shiny object on a string. It was too beautiful to believe.

'You serious?' he whispered.

'I am,' she replied sincerely. 'So, you wanna let me practise or what?'


	4. Chapter 4

Abbie stood in front of her bedroom mirror, putting the final touches on her make-up. She felt a swell of anger when she thought of her conversation with Crane earlier that day. It began innocently enough, when the two of them escaped the confines of the Masons' cell for a breath of fresh air. Jenny agreed to stand guard over Sally and Joe while they grabbed a much-needed sandwich at The Painted Doll Café.

'So I figure we need to bring in some outside help,' Abbie said, taking a bite of her grilled Swiss cheese sandwich.

Crane chewed thoughtfully before speaking. 'I agree. Without further information on our enemy, we are at their mercy. All we can do is wait until they reveal themselves, at which point it will be too late.'

Abbie paused, trying to assume a casual air. 'I called Hawley to see if I can get any information out of him.' She watched Crane carefully to see his reaction.

His eyes trained on his corned beef sandwich, he struggled to keep his tone measured. 'I do not think that is a good idea. Hawley has shown himself to be a self-serving, avaricious brigand. He is not to be trusted.'

'You're not telling me anything I don't know, Crane. But we're flying blind here.' Though her partner did not speak for some time, she heard his breath quickening in irritation. 'I'm meeting him at the bar tonight.'

'I shall accompany you,' he replied instantly.

'No.' Abbie tried to keep her voice down, even as her irritation increased. 'He knows exactly how to wind you up. I can handle him.'

'I would rest easier…'

Abbie's patience finally snapped. 'I said no, Crane!' She lowered her voice, seeing that several other patrons had noticed their disagreement. 'I speak to contacts all the time, I question suspects by myself… I am a grown woman and a police officer, Crane. I do not need a babysitter!'

She was not sure at what point she became this angry. It was as if the frustration of the previous weeks had combined with feelings that she had suppressed for far too long. 'I know you feel guilty about Katrina, Crane.' The words came tumbling out almost against her will. 'You can't protect me from everything!'

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Abbie regretted her bluntness.

'Lieutenant,' Crane said quietly. 'I feel many emotions regarding Katrina, but guilt is not the foremost amongst them. Believe me, I do not wish to impugn your professionalism. If you do not wish my presence tonight, I shall absent myself.'

The conversation trailed off awkwardly. As Abbie hooked a strand of hair behind her ear and steeled herself for her meeting with Hawley, she wondered why she felt a tinge of disappointment. It was as if she secretly longed for a confrontation with Crane, where all their issues about Katrina and Henry would finally be aired. Her feelings were jumbled and confused. She could not understand why she felt so angry at Crane's desire to protect her. It was understandable – having lost his wife only months before, he would naturally feel protective of his closest friend and partner.

By the time she reached the bar, all of her anger had leached away and was replaced with annoyance at herself. She regretted wearing the pants and low-cut sweater what had always made her feel sexy and professional in the past. Now it seemed like she was trying too hard to impress. She wondered if she had time to run home and change, but immediately spotted Sally and Joe seated at a table at the other end of the room. When they heard about her meeting with Hawley that night, they managed to guilt her into allowing them a night out of solitary confinement.

As she watched the pair talking casually, she envied the uncomplicated nature of their friendship. Over the last few weeks, they had been forced to overcome their differences and work together to try and control Joe's curse. She felt a painful sense of loss, that her partnership with Crane had become irreparably strained since Katrina's death. It frustrated her that she could no longer share her secrets in the same unguarded way as she had in the past. There was something new and unspoken between them now, something which she was afraid to ponder too deeply.

* * *

Sally was about to take a sip of beer when the barmaid swooped in and grabbed it from her. 'Sorry, I don't wanna lose my job. The lady at the bar says you're under twenty-one.'

As she walked away, Sally glanced at the bar and saw Abbie giving her a cheeky wave. She sighed in frustration. 'I'm twenty-one in three months anyway. Fascist.'

'Told you,' Joe grinned, sipping his own beer tauntingly. 'Want me to spot you a ginger ale?'

Sally threw a beer mat which narrowly missed his head. Her eye was caught by a gorgeous girl standing by the jukebox, sending surreptitious glances in his direction.

'Hey, don't look now, but there's a girl over there who's totally checking you out.'

Joe looked momentarily discomfited. He subtly glanced over towards the girl and smiled noncommittally.

'You should go over there and talk to her.'

'I'm not really in the mood to date.' Joe shifted awkwardly in his seat.

'Who said anything about dating? We're out for the first night in who knows how long – we should have some fun.'

It was surprising to see this new bubbly side of Sally's personality emerging. In the weeks since she took control of her powers, she had become much happier and more confident. Still, Joe was unaffected by her enthusiasm.

'It's too risky right now. I don't wanna put anyone else in danger – not until I get control of this thing.' He had not meant it as an implied criticism of Sally's powers, but the slump in her shoulders suggested that she took it that way. 'What about you?' he said quickly, trying to keep the mood light. 'There's plenty of guys here, why don't you try your luck?'

Sally shrugged. 'I'm old-fashioned. I prefer the man to do the pursuing.'

'How's that working out?' Joe grinned.

'Not that well, considering I'm sitting here talking to you,' Sally countered.

'You might have more luck if it wasn't for the…' he gestured to her make-up. 'The weird Kabuki death-mask look you got going on.'

'Rude!' Sally remarked. 'You don't hear me commenting on your corn-fed, all-American handsome face.'

'You just did! Corn-fed indeed.' Joe pretended to be affronted, but was struck more by the "handsome" comment.

'Wait here, then you'll see how I do.' She stood up and headed towards the bathroom.

* * *

'Hey, Mills!'

Abbie experienced a familiar spike of excitement as she spotted Hawley walking towards her. She knew herself well enough to recognise a simple attraction when she felt it, and she knew Hawley well enough to know a bad idea when it presented itself.

'Hawley.' She pointed to the bar stool next to her. This spot was not the most discreet area of the bar, but she wanted to keep Joe and Sally's table in sight at all times. 'Can I get you a drink?'

'Thanks, but when a cop buys me a drink, I think "sting".' He nodded to the barman. 'Jack Daniels on the rocks.'

'Kinda jumpy, Hawley,' Abbie remarked. 'You got someone on your tail?'

'You always think the worst of me, Mills. What can I do for you?'

Abbie turned towards him in her seat and lowered her voice. 'This isn't a trick. I need your help, simple as that.'

Hawley picked up his drink and gestured for her to continue.

'There's been a lot of strange events in Sleepy Hollow lately. You may have seen it in the news – murders, attacks, unexplained electrical discharges. Remember him?' She pointed towards Joe, now sitting by himself. She assumed that Sally had gone to the bathroom but made a note to check it out.

'Oh, that's our wendigo buddy. How's he doing?'

'Not great actually. Something has reversed the spell that undid the curse. There's a whole spectrum of supernatural bad running loose in Sleepy Hollow and we don't know what it means.'

Hawley took a minute to absorb this news. 'Not good. What do you want from me?'

'I need to know if anyone new or suspicious has approached you lately. Anyone looking for magical or occult artefacts maybe?'

'Honey, my whole clientele is made up of suspicious characters. If I start giving their names to the cops, I can start looking for a new job.'

Abbie felt a growing sense of frustration. She suddenly wished that Crane was there, if only to present a distraction for Hawley's machismo. 'This is important. We could be looking at a new army of Moloch's followers, trying to kick-start the Apocalypse again. If you're selling them weapons, you're gonna find yourself on the wrong side of a terrible war.'

Hawley held up his hands. 'Hey, easy, Officer. Look, if someone came looking for a weapon, I'd be the last one to take the job, not after last time. I like money as much as the next guy, but not at the expense of the world, I promise you.'

Abbie examined his expression and found that despite her reservations, she believed him. She sipped her drink in silence.

* * *

Joe looked up and started at the sight of Sally Chang, hair free of those horrible bunches, her face scrubbed clean of make-up.

'So, what do you think?'

What did he think? For the first time, Joe was able to look at her face without layers of white paint and thick black kohl framing her eyes.

'You look nice.' It was a fairly mundane observation, but it was the only thought that shuttled around his mind at that moment. She was genuinely pretty, with almond-shaped eyes and olive skin. He found his gaze travelling over her in a way he had never felt able to before.

Yes, she looked nice. Something stirred inside of him, enflaming a fear that he had tried to control since the nightmare had enveloped his world all over again.

The wendigo growled to life.

'I need another drink.' He stood up abruptly and walked over to the bar.

'Ok.' Sally stood at the table, confused at his sudden change in behaviour. She picked up the beer bottle that he had left abandoned on the table and took a sip.

By the time Joe returned to the table, Sally was gone. He sighed, immediately regretting his strange behaviour and intending to apologise as soon as she returned. His guilt turned to worry as the seconds of her absence extended into minutes. He risked a glance at Abbie and saw her absorbed in conversation with Hawley. Not wanting to worry her without cause, he went to the restroom area to see if she was feeling unwell.

'Hey, Sally, you in there?' He knocked on the door of the Ladies' toilet. When there was no response, he entered. Ignoring the middle-aged lady at the mirror who was reapplying her lipstick, he checked each of the stalls in turn.

He was panicking now. It struck him with force that he didn't even know her mobile number, so there was no way of finding her if she wandered off with someone. He found himself out in the chill of the carpark.

It had only been five minutes since her disappearance, but from his training at Quantico he was well aware that each moment that passed lessened the chance of finding her alive.

'Sally?' he said allowed, roaming up and down between the rows of vehicles. He finally accepted the fact that he had to call Abbie, despite the prospect of her inevitable anger.

As he reached into his pocket for his phone, he gasped at the sharp sting of a hypodermic needle piercing his forearm. Fear overwhelmed his mind as his legs buckled beneath him and he sank to the ground. Before he lost consciousness, he saw a swarthy middle-aged man floating above him. Joe had a horrible, suffocating sense of being surrounded by a crowd of faceless people.

'Don't be afraid, Mister Corbin. We are your friends – we are the ones who will help you to achieve your destiny.'


	5. Chapter 5

Less than ten minutes after Sally and Joe vanished, Abbie made the call.

'Let me help,' she heard Hawley say as she stood helplessly in the bar, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

'I don't need your help,' Abbie replied. 'I just need to think for a second.' She cursed herself. She had allowed herself to be distracted by Hawley, by the pleasure of being flattered by a handsome man, of being the sole focus of his attention. Her weakness had allowed Joe and Sally to slip out of her grasp.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The paralysing sense of guilt and panic evaporated and she knew exactly what to do. The only thing keeping her from a dead sprint was her heels, which made her feel as if she was treading water as she made her way to the to the station.

The second call was to Crane. It was a struggle to keep her voice calm and professional when all she really wanted was to sob down the phone.

'Crane? I'm sending Jenny to pick you up – you need to get down to the station right away. I can't say too much over the phone, but I need you here.'

 _I need you here._

'Certainly, Lieutenant.' Abbie's voice was pitched higher than normal and there was a distinct undertone of fear to her words. Whatever had happened was clearly grave but he needed to vocalise his thoughts. 'But may I ask how serious it is?'

She paused before replying. 'It could not possibly be worse.'

* * *

Joe awoke to the quickly enfolding sensation that he was drowning. He was lying on his back, unable to move – his hands and feet bound. He quickly realised that he was outdoors, his eyes blindfolded and his face covered with something heavy and wet.

Understanding overtook him as quickly as the horror inside – he was being water-boarded. He had experienced this type of treatment once before. It was during a training session on advanced interrogation techniques before being shipped off to Afghanistan. He wanted to be prepared for what he might someday be ordered to do, and the only way to do that was to know what it felt like. He remembered the anticipation and fear of what was to happen, then the horrible sense of powerlessness as he was strapped down.

There was an awful feeling of familiarity as the wrapping over his face grew sodden and heavy and the cold water trickled into his mouth and nose. His body convulsed and he coughed and spluttered, desperately trying to stop the burning pain.

A man's voice penetrated the screaming clamour of his mind.

'Oh, look. Baby's awake.'

The cloth was ripped from his head and he was hauled to his feet. He was surrounded by trees on every side and Joe found himself staring straight into the slate-grey eyes of a serial killer. The man was huge and bearded, like an aging Hell's Angel. He was peering at Joe as if he was some exotic species of life. At that moment, half-drowned and terrified, Joe felt that he might be facing his last few moments on Earth.

 _Sally._

His mind turned to Sally, and where she was at that moment. Whatever happened to him, he prayed that she would not suffer too much.

'Thought you were some tough army dude. You're just a kid.'

Joe was utterly confused by the man's ruminations. His brain stuttered to life, wondering if he might somehow he an ally – if he could be persuaded to help. Before his thoughts could proceed further, the man grabbed him by the elbow and swung him around.

'Come on, boy. Playtime's over – time for you to meet your new comrades-in-arms.'

Joe was dragged, tripping and stumbling through the forest. He felt a shard of hope when headlights appeared though the trees ahead of him. As they drew closer, the thumping beat of a subwoofer reached his ears. The possibility of rescue seemed tantalisingly close.

His heart dropped when they entered the clearing. When his eyes adjusted to the blinding lights, he realised that he was surrounded on all sides. Dozens of people milled around, drinking beer, joking and dancing to the music. Nobody seemed the least bit concerned by his presence.

A few minutes passed, and Joe dazed senses noticed a man in a bearskin coat climbing onto a wooden crate. The man gave a "cut-it" gesture and the music instantly stopped.

Joe felt his bearded companion nudge his ribs, bidding him to listen. 'Caleb is about to prophesy.'

The bearskin man lifted a bullhorn to his mouth and began to speak. 'Friends, welcome!' His words were greeted with a triumphant shout from the crowd. 'We've been waiting a long time, my comrades. Waiting for a purpose – waiting for a call. And here we are, at the beginning of a new age. We are soldiers in a beautiful cause – the reshaping of the entire world!'

The revellers were overcome with cheering once more, drowning out his next few words. '…all of you – each one will have a place in this new world order. Those who fall will be raised up amongst the most blessed of the demons. Our Lord Moloch wills it!'

Joe experienced a chill running through his body that had little to do with his wet clothes or the cold night air. So it was true then – these were the people who were responsible for all the recent crimes in Sleepy Hollow. They were intent on creating havoc in the name of Moloch.

'We're honoured with a guest here tonight – a new ally in the great war.'

Joe saw all eyes trained on him and felt a great urge to yell out, to cry for help or run – anything – but he knew that it was pointless at best and at worst suicidal.

Caleb nodded intently to the bearded man by his side who strode off into the woods again. 'Or should I say guard dog?'

A great peal of laughter rippled around the throng, followed by a chorus of howling and barking. Joe felt a great blaze of humiliation and hatred across his cheeks. Suddenly, his attention was caught by a whimpering noise – he spotted Sally being dragged into the circle by the bearded man. The mood of the crowd instantly changed to something malevolent – a cruel laugh that did not promise good things.

She seemed unharmed though her eyes glittered with fear. He tried to send her a warm, reassuring smile but he was sure it was anything but. He tried to tune out the fear of what was about to happen and think about happier things – like the bar. They were having so much fun joking and ribbing each other, but there had been a strange, fearful undercurrent – a knowledge that he could not allow himself to be unguarded around her.

He would only end up hurting her.

'Comrades!' Caleb raised the bullhorn to his lips once more as a struggling Sally was hauled to his side. 'Tonight you will see a transformation – a first sacrifice on the road to glorious victory!'

And then the sickening realisation came. Joe knew exactly what they were about to do. Bound as he was, paralysed with horror, he was helpless when the blade appeared – light glinting along its length.

'See our new weapon rise! Our wendigo!' Caleb lifted Sally's hand and sliced open her palm.

Joe was aware of nothing but the pearls of blood dripping from the neat slit in her hand onto the forest floor. He smelt it – the sweet, cloying scent – and immediately knew how good it would taste. An overpowering desire to rip her open from head to foot flooded over him – a need to feast on her soft flesh and organs.

 _No. No. No. No._

'Sally,' he croaked. His throat was raw from the waterboarding. He coughed and took in a huge draught of air.

'SALLY!' he screamed. 'RUN!'

* * *

Abbie paced the length and breadth of the cordoned-off carpark. She had changed into her work clothes, and despite what Sheriff Reyes had said, she was clear-headed and sober. Jenny had gone to scour the roads for any sign of where Joe and Sally had been taken. All she could do was wait.

'Lieutenant.'

She could hear the gentleness and lack of reproach in his voice, and felt even worse for it. 'Don't, Crane, just don't. I know it's my fault, so don't try and tell me that it's not. I took my eye off the ball – I let them get away.'

'You did not. We are facing a great evil, Lieutenant. You are not tasked with facing it alone. It is my task to take some of the burden and I have failed in that task of late. I have been so consumed by my own grief and sorrow that I have neglected you. Abbie, forgive me.'

The compassion and clarity in his eyes made her want to burst into tears.

'I just… I don't wanna…' She paused to brush away a traitorous tear. 'They're just kids, Crane.'

He reached over and touched her cheek with a featherlike caress. 'We shall find them.'

The sensation was so pleasurable that Abbie had to physically suppress a shudder. She jumped as the phone buzzed in her hand.

Crane watched as she took the call, her body language transforming as she did. Her shoulders pulled back and her head became erect – it was as if she became herself again.

'We got a lead,' she grinned as she ended the call. 'Somebody saw a man being bundled into a pick-up truck around the time of Joe's disappearance. She reported that the truck turned north onto Highway 9 before she lost track of it.'

'That is not a great deal to go on,' Crane mused. 'However, good trackers use what they are given. And we have not a moment to lose.'

As they climbed into Abbie's car, she sent a prayer out in to the ether, hoping against hope that they were not too late.

'Hold on,' she murmured. 'Hold on – we're coming for you.'


	6. Chapter 6

There must have been other noises – the wind buffeting the trees around her, the crunch of twigs underfoot – but all Sally was aware of was the sound of her breath in her ears cascading like a waterfall. Her heart beat hard enough to shatter her ribs and her throat burned with exertion. She was increasingly sure that she was heading in the wrong direction – running deeper into the forest instead of in the direction of a road.

Her mind was consumed with the terror she felt as she watched Joe transform in front of her eyes. It wasn't even the sight of his limbs twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that horrified her, it was the fear in his eyes; it was the pain that wracked his body.

It was the knowledge that she could do nothing to help him, or herself.

She remembered the look of gleeful malice on Caleb's face as he ordered the bellowing mob to let her pass.

'The wendigo needs to make the kill.' She overheard him shout. 'Adrenaline sweetens the blood.'

Her legs began to protest as she felt the ground steepen beneath her feet. She knew that she wasn't going to make it much further. She had come so far already – all she wanted to do was lie down and rest.

She scanned her surroundings with mounting desperation. The tree trunks were tall and narrow with nothing on which to gain a foothold – even if she had the energy to climb.

And then she heard it – the sound of something huge approaching at speed. She may have blacked out with pure dread, because the next thing she knew she was staring at a creature from her nightmares.

She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, struggling to remind herself that this was not a monster. This was Joe.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the wendigo staring into her face as if contemplating her. She looked deeply into its eyes and tried to find some humanity there. She searched deeply for any sign of her friend, but all she saw was a black, cavernous emptiness.

A great sense of hopelessness consumed her as another figure entered the clearing – the loathsome figure of Caleb. She could see the cruelty in his eyes as she viewed her. He wanted to watch her die.

'Take her, Wendigo. Taste her blood!'

She felt a tidal wave of anger rise up within her.

 _You bastard._

She glanced over at the wendigo. Why was there conflict in its grotesque face? Why was it delaying?

Caleb reached forward and grabbed her arm with brutal force. When she cried out, she was sure she saw the creature react.

 _There's someone in there. Joe's still in there._

She shrieked in pain as Caleb squeezed her injured hand. The wendigo's head shot up – responding to the scent of her blood.

'She's delicious,' Caleb sneered, yanking her hand forward and licking her palm lasciviously. 'Do it now!'

He flung her away from him with contempt, leaving her sprawling on the ground like a rag doll. When she looked up, she saw no more struggle in the creature's eyes – only ravenous hunger.

 _He's going to eat me. Eat my guts out and leave nothing but bones._

'Joe!' she cried out. 'You won't hurt me. You won't.'

She had no idea where her confidence came from – all she knew was that she had to keep talking.

'You're not a monster, Joe. You're Joseph Corbin – you like beer and baseball and girls with tattoos. Your best friends are Abbie and Jenny Mills. You want to be an FBI agent but right now you'll settle for just being human. You're not a monster.' She heard herself sobbing.

That same look was back – that seed of doubt that was eminently human. 'I'm your friend, Joe. You won't hurt me.'

The wendigo peeled back its gums and bared its teeth at her. In that moment, Sally knew that all her efforts – all her hopes – had been for nothing.

'Shut up talking and die, little bitch.' Caleb snarled at her.

The creature snapped its head around and stared at the man in the bearskin coat. In that moment, Sally was sure that she saw a smile on its monstrous face.

And then it pounced.

Sally found herself running again, her muscles fuelled only by a frantic desire to live. As she scrambled over the rise, a flash of light dazzled her eyes. She stopped, breathing heavily, realising that she was looking at a strip of reflective paint on the highway.

Behind her, in the woods, she heard the horrific screams of Caleb as he was torn to pieces. Above the clamour, Sally was sure she heard a voice inside her mind, and for once, it wasn't her own voice she heard. It was Joe's.

 _Run, Sally. Run._

* * *

Abbie paused mid-sentence, dropped her pen on the desk and massaged her right hand with her left, trying to work out a cramp. Nine hours after the fact, her mind was still in a state of shock, trying to make sense of everything that had occurred. It was still a blur, but in the cold light of day, the dominant facts became clear.

They had come across some kind of party in the middle of the forest on the northern edge of Sleepy Hollow. Even from their distant vantage point, it was clear that something very nasty was happening. The music suddenly stopped and the crowd stood in thrall of a man in an ugly fur coat who spoke through a bullhorn. Though she was barely able to hear a word, the reaction from the throng was enough to send a chill through Abbie's body. She could recognise a friendly village gathering from a witch-burning, and this had the distinctly sulphurous odour of the latter.

She felt her stomach drop when Joe was dragged out, bound and looking the worse for a beating. It was only when she felt Crane gently gripping her arm that she realised that her hand was on her gun. The moment she met his eyes, she knew that he was right. It was crazy to attempt a rescue – they were vastly outnumbered and a long way from home.

It was something only Jenny was crazy enough to try. In that moment, she silently wished for her sister to come swooping in with some heavy weaponry, ready to save the day.

And then everything went to hell.

They watched as Joe underwent the dreaded transformation – the crowd going wild with excitement and fear.

'Crane?' Abbie whispered. 'Did you bring the stun-gun?'

'No,' Crane replied gravely. 'Your sheriff removed it from our artillery. She insisted that it was too dangerous for law enforcement officers.'

'Great.' Abbie climbed to her feet and checked her weapon.

'Abbie, are you prepared to shoot Joe if necessary? Are you ready to end his life to prevent him from ending another's?'

She looked at him with hollow determination in her eyes. Friend or no friend – Joe or no Joe – she would do what she had to do. She skirted around the edge of the treeline, following in the direction the creature had gone. It was not too difficult a task as small trees were tossed aside and the earth was churned up as if a tractor had run over it.

Abbie caught an acrid smell on the breeze – the unmistakeable odour of blood – and knew that she was too late. She stumbled into the clearing and saw something that her heart catch in her throat – a wave of nausea passing over her.

Joe lay naked on the floor of the forest – unconscious or asleep – and beside him was the hollowed out corpse of the man in the bearskin coat. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing mind, but something caught her attention. She looked up and saw Sheriff Reyes standing at the edge of the highway – her face blanched in the moonlight.

Whatever she had seen – it had been enough.

* * *

Sally found Joe in front of one of the tall bookshelves that lined the Archives – aimlessly leafing through a crumbling tome.

'Hey,' she said cautiously. Her voice was dry and hoarse from disuse. 'I've been looking for you. You avoiding me or what?'

He looked at her as if that was the most stupid question imaginable. The awkward silence between them grew until she could no longer take it.

A week had passed since the chaos in the woods, and with all the excitement at the station – the arrests, the publicity, the hushing-up of Caleb's death – they had barely seen one another. The spate of violence that had clouded Sleepy Hollow had trickled away, but since the Sheriff's Department was unable to make a case against the majority of suspects, they were pretty sure that trouble was not too far away.

'I wanted to thank you for what you did.' Sally had rehearsed the line a hundred times, but it still sounded weak and inadequate to her ears.

'Thank me?' Joe laughed scornfully. 'For what – for almost killing you?'

'You didn't though. You could have, but you didn't.'

'Great,' Joe replied, half under his breath. 'You sound like a battered housewife.'

Sally watched him distractedly leaf through the pages with a growing sense of despair. He sounded as if he hated her, and perhaps he did. Perhaps everything that had happened to him that night had created an insurmountable wall of pain and trauma between them.

'We'll fix it,' she said, her voice small and desperate. 'I swear I'll work harder – I'll find a way to make the spell work. We can control this.'

'It hasn't worked so far,' he replied, his eyes fixed on the book. Finally, he looked at her. 'I killed someone, Sally. Do you know what that means – to take a life? I've killed friends of mine – my whole platoon in Afghanistan. You don't know what that does to you inside. The shame, the guilt – it never goes away. I swore I would never let anything like that happen again.'

With a sudden burst of fury he flung the old text to the floor. 'Why do you think I've spent the last month chained up in that damn cell? Everything changed that night. I became something I swore I'd never be again.'

'But you saved my life. You could have easily killed me – every instinct inside you was screaming at you to do it. But something stopped you. That proves to me that even when you're the other thing – you're still _you_ , still Joe. And that gives me hope.'

She smiled and walked away, as if recognising his need to be left alone. As if she had some connection with his thoughts.

Joe thought back to that night in the forest and swore he could sense her feelings – her fears – when he was in the body of the wendigo. That was why he could not kill her. Because she was in his head, telling him not to.

And he too felt hope.


	7. Chapter 7

" **Falling Slowly", written by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová**

Joe sat by himself at the bar, listening to the plaintive lyrics as they wafted over him. He was on a three-beer buzz, but that was no excuse for humming the tune to a sappy acoustic love song. No excuse whatsoever.

 _I don't know you but I want you_

 _All the more for that_

 _Words fall through me and always fool me_

 _And I can't react_

 _And games that never amount to more than they're meant_

 _Will play themselves out_

There was no denying that he felt guilty. In the five weeks that had elapsed since the incident in the woods, he had done his level best to create space between himself and Sally. It had just been too close a call, and he was determined not to endanger her safety any further. He had even tried to evict her from the Masons' cell, but Sally stood firm. She needed a space to practice her magic uninterrupted, and it made sense to stay close to the Archives.

 _Take this sinking boat and point it home_

 _We've still got time_

 _Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice_

 _You've made it now_

His mind went inevitably back to the dream that night. He was caught in the middle of a transformation – his body half-human, half-wendigo. Stuck in a state of agonising pain, tempered with the horror of what he had become, all he could do was scream and hope for death.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself on his bed, bound to the cell wall and drenched in sweat.

'Joe?' Sally awoke on her cot on the other side of the cell. It still amazed him how different she looked with her hair cropped short, framing her face with dark locks – that bleached-straw colour thankfully gone.

'It's nothing – just a bad dream.'

She crouched beside his bed and touched his face with nervous fingertips. 'You're burning up. It's getting worse, isn't it?'

He could see a look of despair on her face – blended with the frustration of too little sleep and too many hours spent in the cell, trying in vain to strengthen her magic. Her power was growing day by day, but she still wasn't any closer to perfecting the transformation spell.

He shook his head, loath to tell her that his dreams were growing more vivid and terrifying.

'It's okay. Go back to sleep.'

She laid her head on the pillow beside his. 'You sleep,' she whispered. 'I'll wake you if the dreams come back.'

 _Falling slowly_

 _Eyes that know me_

 _And I can't go back_

'Might I join you?'

Joe heard Ichabod Crane's precise tones and was sorely tempted to refuse. All he wanted was to finish his beer and brood.

'Help yourself.'

They sipped their drinks in silence for a long moment.

'It appears that Miss Chang will not be joining us again,' Crane commented. 'Surely this obsession with magic cannot be healthy?'

Joe looked at him in surprise. 'I thought you and Abbie were all about her using her powers for good?'

Crane nodded tersely. 'Believe me – I know only too well how seductive and harmful these powers can be. I worry about her.'

'I'm worried too,' Joe confessed.

'I also feel concerned for you. You seem… distracted.'

Joe laughed mirthlessly. 'You would be too if you had a hell beast trapped inside you.'

'That is not the matter to which I am referring. I do not wish to interfere in personal matters, but it is clear that you harbour romantic feelings for Sally.'

There was no perceptible reaction from Joe – no look of surprise or indignation. 'That's pretty rich coming from you, Crane. Anyone with eyes can see you're in love with Abbie.'

That got a response – Crane's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and his fingers twitched distractedly. 'That is… that is quite…'

'Do me a favour and don't deny it. I see the way you are together, the way you behave, the way your eyes follow her around the room.'

Crane raised his eyes to Joe's in concern. 'Is the Lieutenant aware of this?'

Joe shrugged. 'I think she's too caught up in saving the world, or maybe she knows you too well to notice. Maybe it's always been there.' He paused, considering his beer. 'Do you think Sally knows?'

'I cannot say,' Crane replied. 'It appears we are both in the dark when it comes to the objects of our affections.'

Joe didn't reveal what he was pondering – the dream that he fell into as soon as his eyes closed the night before – Sally lying mere inches away.

He was overcome with a feeling of relief and gratitude that was so potent he could still recall it. Hands gripped his back and soft skin kissed every inch of his fevered body.

Somehow he knew her body like he knew his own, even though he had never seen her naked. As she moved over him, caressing him gently, she whispered words of affection and desire in his ears. She was so beautiful he was sure he would die from happiness.

 _I don't know you but I want you_

 _All the more for that_

* * *

Sally checked the GPS on her phone once more. This was the exact spot where the turn-off was supposed to be. She had left Jenny's car parked on a lay-by and hiked for more than a mile uphill, the gravel road illuminated only by the dim light from her phone.

She walked a few more feet and saw a flash of illumination in the trees above her. Suddenly, the way ahead was clear and she quickly made her way up the path towards the house.

It was more of a shack in truth – a single storey wooden building with ragged curtains covering the windows. Light emerged from within – not from an artificial source, but real, pulsating firelight.

The door eventually opened and a woman appeared. She was probably no older than her mid-thirties, but there was a haggard, worn look about her that spoke of a lifetime of poverty and deprivation.

'My name is Sally. I was told you would be expecting me.'

The woman nodded curtly and beckoned her inside. The interior of the shack was sparse – a tattered rug on the floor the only concession to warmth or comfort. A group of women sat on the bare floorboards – all of them thin and ageless, draped in shapeless dresses, long hair hanging down their backs.

'Welcome,' the tallest of the women spoke, her voice rich and thick as molasses. 'Join us as a sister. Agnes?'

The woman at the door ushered Sally into the room, closing the door firmly behind them. Sally shyly approached the leader of the group.

'My name is Beatrice. Be among us, Sally.'

Beatrice's face was lined but somehow handsome nonetheless. Sally felt a little more at ease in this strange place, even though her heart hammered in her chest. She shuddered to imagine what would happen if the others found out where she was.

'Tell us why you have come.'

'I thought they told you…' Sally began.

'I know what I have been told. I want the group to hear it from your lips.'

Sally inhaled deeply. She knew that a lot depended on her choice of words. 'I've come to learn from you – to be one of you, if you'll let me. I want to help revive the ancient coven of witches in Sleepy Hollow, and for us to take our rightful place.'

Another of the witches raised her voice. 'You believe you are worthy, child?'

Risking a glimpse at the woman's face, she saw a pretty woman with chestnut hair falling in waves.

'Your question is not unwarranted, Lucilla, but let the child earn our trust. The penalties for betraying our sacred vows remain the same.'

Sally felt a chill running through her. Beatrice reached out and grasped her hands painfully.

'Repeat these words after me, child,' she intones. 'I commit my life, my body and my soul to the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart.'

'I commit my life, my body and my soul to the Sisterhood of the Radiant Heart.'

'I bind myself to confessing all of my innermost secrets, and to keeping the confidences of the coven.'

Sally repeated the words, her heart cracking as she did.

'I pledge myself to traversing the boundaries of life and death to resurrecting the fallen ones.'

'I… wait, what do you mean?'

Sally sensed every pair of eyes in the room focused on her. She felt a slowly-growing panic envelope her.

'Isa, Jer, Nahum and Mal – The Four Who Speak as One – killed by the Golem conjured by Jeremy Crane. Katrina van Tassel – treacherously murdered by her husband in the full bloom of her power. We pledge ourselves to crossing the borders of this world to bring our sisters back to wreak our revenge against Ichabod Crane.'

Beatrice climbed to her feet and raised her hands to encompass the whole group. 'You have come to join our coven, Sally Chang, to gain our power and wisdom. That does not come without sacrifice. Tell us now, without fear of retribution, will you pledge us your fealty and your obedience? Will you help us bring back the fallen witches?'

Sally struggled to push aside the terror that clouded her mind and remember why she was here. This was for the group. This was for Joe.

'I will.'


	8. Chapter 8

Sally waded through the thick undergrowth, the night air forcing its way through her skimpy denim jacket. It was the same outfit she was wearing the night of her arrest two months before. Through some legal tangle, the contents of her apartment were still in the hands of the Sheriff's Department and she did not have enough money for new clothes.

She struggled to ignore the cold and concentrate on the task in hand. The image of a mandrake plant with its brightly-coloured flowers was burned into her mind, but she was anxious that she would miss it in the darkness of the woods. She knew that the plant was native to the Mediterranean and had narcotic and hallucinogenic properties. What she wasn't sure of was what the coven was planning on using it for.

So fiercely was she concentrating on the task in hand that she didn't notice the unmistakable tread of combat boots behind her. She had barely enough time to squeak before a hand clamped over her mouth and she felt herself being dragged to the ground.

Her immediate instinct was to kick and scratch, but her limbs were pinned beneath the body of a much larger person. She wanted to scream but her mouth was tightly covered, causing her to hyperventilate through her nose. She couldn't breathe – she was going to suffocate…

Suddenly the weight lifted off her and she felt herself being hauled into a kneeling position.

'What the hell are you doing here?'

Sally blinked in confusion. 'Joe?'

'Keep your voice down!' he hissed. 'I think you're being followed.'

A leaden sensation spread through her stomach, a feeling of betrayal, of being compromised. The creeping paranoia that had gnawed the back of her mind all night suddenly made sense.

'How did you know I was here?' she asked in a small voice.

'I've been watching you for days. You weren't very clever with your escapades, were you? Jenny got suspicious when her truck kept disappearing and followed you. She told us that you switched sides and joined a coven. I told them that was impossible – you would never do that. Was I wrong?'

'Joe, you have to understand,' she pleaded. 'I'm learning so much from them – I never would have got so far on my own.' Even as she spoke, she realised how unconvincing she sounded.

A twig broke nearby, echoing through the woods. Joe placed a finger to his lips and peered between the trees, trying to discern any sign of a pursuer.

When he was sure that nothing was approaching, he spoke again. 'Tell me everything you know.'

Slowly, awkwardly, the words tumbled from her mouth. 'They want to raise Crane's wife and the rest of her coven.'

She could see a look of astonishment and faint heartbreak on his face and rambled on, desperate to explain herself. 'I wanted to find out what their plan was before I said anything to the group. I knew Abbie would want to come in guns blazing, so I waited.'

'Forget the others. Why the hell didn't you tell me?'

She avoided his gaze, thinking she might cry if she looked at him for too long. 'You and Abbie are family. And besides, I knew I couldn't face you until I was able to keep my promise.'

He grabbed her by the arms, a little roughly. 'You think I care about that? I care about you.' He appeared embarrassed by the words, as if he hadn't meant to say them. Perhaps they masked something else, something stronger.

Sally stared into his eyes for what felt like forever. 'I care about you too,' she whispered. 'That's why I'm doing this.'

They moved as one, kissing as if clinging to life. It was as if that moment was the culmination of something that had begun the moment they met, and perhaps even before. It was as instinctive and natural as taking a breath. Time seemed to evaporate, so that when it was over, Sally was unsure if a minute or an hour had passed.

* * *

Sally eventually found her way back to the cabin, the precious mandrake root clutched to her chest, wrapped in a ragged piece of cloth. Her hear had yet to regain its normal rhythm, despite the time that had passed since leaving Joe in the woods. She felt lighter than air, but still it was hard to ignore the niggling suspicion that she was being watched.

She let herself in, using a key that was concealed beneath a loose stone in front of the door. Inside, the coven appeared not to have moved since she had left. One thing had changed, though. In the centre of the group was a brazier in which coals glowed brightly, at the heart of which was a metallic basin filled with water.

Beatrice reached out a hand, tipped with long, narrow fingers. 'Do you have the item?' she asked. Without a word, Sally slipped the bundle into her hand.

Beatrice unwrapped the root and examined it closely, murmuring to herself as she did. 'Not as lush as I might like. The flowers are still intact – the roots unbroken. It will serve.'

She produced a long blade from the folds of her long skirt and sliced the root into even pieces. Dropping them into the water, she muttered a strange incantation in low, sonorous tones.

Suddenly, she arose from her seated position on the floor. 'Sisters, she uttered loudly. 'We gather here to commune with you – to summon you forth from the depths. Through our sacrifice, you will be rendered a gateway through which you will be made flesh once more.'

She sliced open her palm and allowed the dark blood to drip into the simmering water. 'We appoint one of our number to speak on our behalf.'

Beatrice lifted the basin from the coals and held it up in front of Sally. 'Our newest acolyte – will you accept this honour?'

The desperate desire to flee flashed through Sally's mind. She knew that the mandrake root contained dangerous toxins that could induce hallucinations, delusions, or at worst death. Clearly her duplicity had been discovered and now she was trapped. Someone had seen her in the woods with Joe and her punishment was to die by poison.

A sudden clarity descended over her as she remembered her mission. 'Will it… will I?' she stammered.

'A small dose will not harm you permanently,' Beatrice soothed. 'But you will experience visions which may disturb your mind. Do you have the strength for it? In other words, were we mistaken when we placed our faith in you?'

Sally abandoned all hope of escape. To discover the details of the witches' plan, she had to go on. To save Joe, she could not turn back.

She held out her hands. 'Give it to me.'

* * *

Sally though she knew madness. She had got high before – seen blood-curdling demons and the horrors of childhood refracted through a prism of bad acid. Nothing she had seen before prepared her for this.

She was in a place where light and colour blazed on her retinas as if she was staring into the heart of the sun. She felt devoid of hope, as if alone in a desolate world where beauty was a phantom. At the same time, she had the clearest sensation of bodies and hair pressing against her skin as if she were a small child lost in a city crowd.

'Beatrice?' She tried to speak but language was lost to her. Her tongue was thick and her throat burned with the awful taste of the mandrake potion.

Gradually her sight became clearer, revealing the grey, barren wasteland that surrounded her. It was a void where shades walked – gaunt, rotting spectres of their former selves. Their voices – where she could discern them – called to her, demanding that she stay with them in this hollow place.

Sally wanted to scream, to run away from the awfulness that invaded every cell, every pore. Her leaden feet moved slowly yet inexorably forward, leading her towards mouldering walls and a rusted iron gate. She heard chanting coming from within, the sound of wicked incantations that made her blood turn to ice.

Something drove her onwards, telling her that her destination lay within. With difficulty she opened the gate, because she knew it was expected of her. What she saw when she entered was once a garden, but was overgrown and covered with thorns and gnarled branches.

It was empty. No human or ghost occupied this place, nothing but the twisted perversions of nature that seethed and groaned from the earth, as if trying to trap her. A booming shout pierced the deathly silence – the sound of voices united in triumph. It was then that Sally realised what she had done.

With mounting horror, she knew that she was not meant to speak with the spirits of Katrina and The Four who Speak as One.

She was meant to open the gate for them.

* * *

She opened her eyes and blinked in the glare of sunlight. Her head ached and her mouth felt like sandpaper. She felt soft cotton beneath her and saw subtle feminine touches decorating the bedroom around her.

'Look who's awake.' Abbie was sitting next to the bed, a file splayed open in her lap. 'We were pretty worried about you.'

'Where is this?' she rasped before Abbie held a glass of water to her lips.

'You're in my house – you've been here for two nights. We found you lying on a path in the woods in a pretty bad way. Joe didn't want to tell us anything, but eventually he told us what he knew. Hate him if you want.'

Everything came back to her in an agonising flash – the mandrake potion, the hellish place where had found herself, the realisation that she had been used and discarded by the coven.

'Abbie, I'm so sorry. I've done something terrible.'

The older woman's expression was one of sympathy mixed with her customary no-nonsense attitude. 'Look, we know you infiltrated the coven – that you were only trying to help. We don't think you switched sides on us so you can stop worrying.'

Sally tearfully shook her head. 'You don't understand. I think I helped release the witches – Crane's wife and her coven. I didn't mean to do it, but I think they're here in the real world. Here in Sleepy Hollow.'


	9. Chapter 9

The moment Abbie entered the bar she spied Crane sitting in his favourite position in the corner, his spine ramrod-straight against the back of the seat. One hand clutched a tumbler of amber liquid.

'Hey Crane.' She slipped into the chair beside his. Just watching the tension in his body made her stomach clench.

'Lieutenant,' he replied, refusing to meet her gaze.

She tried to imagine what he was feeling at that moment – anger at Sally for unwittingly unleashing his dead wife upon Sleepy Hollow, guilt at being the one who drove the blade into her heart, all tangled up with a myriad of secret and complicated feelings regarding the wife he had once loved.

'Talk to me, Crane. Tell me what's going on.'

He finally locked eyes with her, his gaze blank and hollow. 'We have a new enemy – that is all – one that I believed had been dispatched long ago.'

Abbie let out a heavy breath, alarm and concern etched on her face. 'Katrina's not just an enemy, Crane,' she said gently. 'She's your wife.'

The glass slammed down on the table, spilling its contents over Crane's hand. 'She's not my wife,' he muttered angrily. 'Our marriage ended the day she sided with Henry and threw the world's fate into the balance.'

'Still,' Abbie ventured. 'You must have some feelings about this. Stuff you might wanna share with your fellow Witness?'

Crane swallowed the dregs of the whiskey from the tumbler. 'Not particularly,' he said gruffly. 'Suffice to say that I killed her once, and I shall have no compunction whatsoever about returning her to the earth from which she crawled.'

Abbie had expected her partner to be blazing with emotion, but his cold fury was chilling. Her usual role was to remain calm and stoic, to be the voice of reason in contrast to his passionate soul. She wished for a moment that her partner could be as strong as her, that he could shoulder the burdens that she had been forced to bear. It quickly became clear that the opposite was true. She wished that he would allow himself to be weak; to open up to her in the same way that he had eked out all of her deepest secrets.

'Crane…'

What could she say? It would be so tempting to reveal everything that she kept inside – the confusing feelings that had only grown in the months since Katrina's death. It had never been the right time for either of them, but she knew that as soon she told him how she felt, everything would suddenly and inexorably change between them. Their easy friendship and intimacy would transform into something awkward and strange, adding another painful layer to their endless struggle against evil.

'We need to come up with a plan.' She said after a long silence. 'I'll be at the Archives when you're ready.'

* * *

Sally knelt on the floor of the Masons' cell, her face a mask of concentration. Her posture was one of penitence, but she was done being sorry for everything she had done. Now was the time for revenge.

She heard a mewling sound, and the small hessian sack that lay beside her shifted slightly.

'Come here, Stockings.' She gently lifted a tiny black-and-white kitten from the bag and nuzzled it affectionately. 'If this goes south, just remember, it was for the greater good.'

She placed the kitten on the floor in front of her, pulling a vial of black powder from her pocket and removing the stopper.

'Quit complaining,' she told the cat as she sprinkled the powder in a circle around it. She felt her breath coming in short nervous puffs, the significance of what she was about to do finally hitting home.

She spoke the incantation that she had learned by heart, but which had failed her so many times in the past. As she repeated the words, she felt a strange sensation creep over her – a feeling of confidence in her own power that had blossomed since her return from the Otherworld.

The only doubt lay in the object of transformation – if it would bend itself to her will. The kitten was a neutral element – it offered no resistance but rendered no assistance either. It came as something of a shock when a cracking noise emanated from the kitten and it suddenly flopped over on its side.

Before her brain could register what had happened, Sally blinked and saw a small lizard staring back at her, its tongue flicking instinctively. She sighed with relief when she realised that the creature appeared intact. She repeated the ritual, marvelling at just how speedily she could work. Just as she hoped, the kitten appeared in front of her, miaowing with confusion but seemingly undamaged.

'What in the hell was that?'

Sally nearly jumped out of her skin. 'Joe! How long have you been here?'

Joe stood in the door of the cell, his eyes as big as saucers. 'I only caught the second half of the show. I thought it was going to be some horrible teleportation accident like _The Fly._ '

'A little preview of what's to come?' she asked gently. For the past two days, she had been in limbo since she told him that she was ready to perform the transformation spell.

She wondered how strong his will was – whether he would allow himself to submit to her spellcraft. It was odd how the power dynamic in their relationship had shifted since her return. When they kissed in the woods, she felt a lightness that she had never experienced before. It was as if, for a few moments, she no longer herself. She was lighter, more beautiful. Now that she had discovered her new strength, she felt that she was the one who had the advantage.

'I'm not going to live my life like this,' Joe mused. 'If you think this spell will work – that I have a chance of a normal life – then I'm willing to try.'

Sally moved the kitten to the other side of the cell. She knew from bitter experience that interference from another living creature within the field of her power could have gruesome consequences.

She sat him down in the centre of the room and sprinkled the black powder around him. 'Try and relax,' she instructed, even though her voice quivered.

Crossed-legged in front of him, she spoke the words with fearful intensity. She knew that there was no room for error this time. She had never tried the spell on a human before – a creature with agency and a will of its own.

The room grew less distinct as she withdrew inside herself, absorbed in the process of unleashing her magic. She could feel Joe's heartrate increasing in fear as the spell began to take hold.

Then it was over.

She opened her eyes and saw Joe sitting in front of her as if nothing had happened.

'Is it finished? Did it work?'

Sally shook her head, destroyed with exhaustion. 'I don't know. I guess all you have to do is…'

In a terrifying flash, the transformation occurred. Joe as she knew him was gone and in his place was the Wendigo. She stared into its monstrous face, remembering the cold fear that had drizzled through her the night when she had encountered it for the first time.

For some reason, she didn't feel afraid this time. Rather, a sense of calm triumph settled over her.

Just as suddenly as the creature appeared it was gone, and in its place lay Joe. He was coated with sweat and grime and his clothes hung ragged and torn around him.

'It worked,' he croaked. 'You did it. I just thought of the Wendigo and then…' He shook his head in disbelief. 'I can switch back and forth – all I have to do is think hard enough. I can control it.'

Sally almost fainted, so intense was the feeling of relief that swept through her. She all but leapt upon him, unsure who was comforting whom as she held him tightly. 'You see?' she whispered. 'Good things happen sometimes.'

'You did this,' Joe replied.

'I had to,' she murmured sleepily. 'After everything I did… Katrina, the witches… I had to make it right. And I will, I promise. They'll pay for what they did.'

Without a word, Joe lifted her up and carried her over to his cot. He covered her with a blanket and climbed in beside her before instantly falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Beatrice led her coven through a series of abandoned warehouses near the river. It was nearing dark, and aside from a few homeless people and drug addicts, she knew that there would be nobody there to identify them.

She had never felt so elated and anxious at the same time. They had been summoned by the Sisters of the Radiant Heart – the most powerful coven ever to exist in Sleepy Hollow. Their plan to raise them by manipulating a naïve and vulnerable witch had been amazingly successful, and now they were being rewarded.

What made it more ingenious was the fact that nobody would believe her, especially since she had played a conspicuous role in the death of her friend. Their plan of surveillance on the girl had payed considerable dividends, despite Lucilla's clumsy ransacking of her apartment. Once they had confirmed that she was a witch, they had remained vigilant, waiting for the day when she would make contact. Her abduction by Caleb and his band of amateurs had been a slight hiccup in their plan, but it had only served to make Sally more desperate to meet others of her kind and learn about the limits of her power.

Beatrice stopped in front of a small wooden building. She vividly recalled the printed sign for an old cargo company from her vision earlier that day. She signalled for the other women to be silent as she unlatched the door.

The twilight gloom made it difficult to see anything, but Beatrice sensed a powerful presence the moment she entered. She was also able to discern the nervous tension of her coven around her.

'Sisters of the Radiant Heart,' she said aloud. 'We have come.'

'Welcome,' the snakelike voices of the Four Who Speak as One emerged from the shadows. 'We are grateful for your service.'

'We are honoured to serve you,' Lucilla exclaimed, but quickly fell silent when she saw Beatrice's glare.

'We are still weak,' said another voice – a prettier one. 'Our powers are failing us. We must regain our strength before we take our vengeance.'

'Will you be of assistance once more?' the Four spoke again.

'Anything.' Beatrice said with emotion. 'We will do anything you require of us.'

A ripple of assent moved through the coven. They watched as the older witches stepped forward out of the shadows. Beatrice had to struggle to keep her expression impassive, for what she saw was horrifying.

The women looked like desiccated corpses – their faces drawn and skull-like and their bodies translucent and foul-smelling. She knew Katrina by her striking red hair, which was thin and had fallen out in clumps, leaving bald patches on her rotting scalp.

The door slammed behind them, and suddenly Beatrice felt a terrible fear erupting inside her. Her sisters began to panic, jostling around her and looking to her for guidance. She felt herself the object of the concentrated power of the Sisters of the Radiant Heart, fixing her to the spot.

She tried to speak, to scream – anything – but was incapable of forming a sound. Against her will, she felt her mouth being forced open. She was powerless to do anything but watch as Katrina slowly advanced upon her.

Katrina stopped directly in front of her and opened her mouth. Beatrice realised with horror that her power, her life-force and energy were being sucked from her body. Every dream, every spell, every memory was drawn out through her mouth and into Katrina.

Katrina inhaled deeply, feeling her old energy and power seeping back into her veins. She looked down at her hands and watched as they became smooth and clear. When she had drained Beatrice dry, she cut the connection and watched as she slumped to the ground.

She looked at the cowering mass in front of her and smiled.

'Sisters,' she said, revelling in the old power and sweetness of her voice. 'Let us feed.'


	10. Chapter 10

The all-points bulletin had been in effect for less than an hour when the first body was discovered. Abbie was briefing the search party when she was abruptly called back to the station. Sheriff Reyes met her in the hallway with a grim look on her face.

'We found the missing student.' Reyes spoke in a low voice, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

'Dead?'

Reyes nodded. 'Found in the burial ground of the Old Dutch Church. The autopsy will tell us more, but the circumstances in which he was found speaks to a ritual killing.' She lowered her voice further. 'We've taken your friend, Ichabod Crane, into custody.'

'What?' Abbie nearly had a stroke. _There was no way… no possibility… Crane would never…_

'It was only for form's sake, I assure you. Mr. Crane was even more baffled than we were, but the body had a note attached to it. It said, "Tell Ichabod Crane that he can stop this, if he chooses." Care to enlighten me?'

Abbie shook her head, but it took no more than a heartbeat to realise what the note meant. 'Where is Crane now?'

'We gave him a cursory interview and confined him to your office.'

Abbie practically ran the few dozen metres to her office, blood rushing in her ears. When she saw Crane, sitting rigidly in a chair in front of her desk, she thought she might die from relief.

'Crane!' She took two steps and immediately remembered herself.

'Lieutenant.' Crane stood up and bowed slightly. 'I presume you have heard about the missive attached to the slain young man. I'm sure you have drawn the same conclusions about who wrote it.'

Abbie nodded. 'Katrina – it could only be Katrina. She's back and she's taking no prisoners.'

* * *

The atmosphere in the Archives was rife with tension. It was night, and though each member of the group was engrossed in their own activity, their thoughts were all focused on Katrina, wondering what her next move might be.

Joe and Sally pored through manuscripts of magical and druidic lore, searching for ways to reverse the spell the coven used to return from the dead. Sally felt the full weight of her task, knowing that she was partly responsible for what had happened. At the same time, it was hard to suppress the glow of happiness that rose from deep within her whenever she thought of the last few nights, spent in a haze of bliss with Joe in the sanctuary of the Masons' cell. She had never felt so safe, so loved in the company of another person in her life, and although he had never said the words, she was sure that Joe felt the same.

In their perch in the corner, Crane and Jenny were doing an itinerary of their weapons and ammunition, preparing for the worst. Their actions were mechanical and routine – it was as if they knew deep down that they were fighting a losing battle.

Shortly before midnight, Abbie's phone rang. Crane watched as she absorbed the latest news, her eyes growing wide and hollow. He recognised this expression from those few occasions when she abandoned her usual formidable strength and allowed him to see her vulnerability.

As soon as the call ended, she sat down, summoning her strength. Every eye in the Archives was directed at her.

'What is it?' Crane said gently. 'Tell me, Lieutenant.'

'It was a woman this time – they found her in the grounds of the Historical Society. There was a note pinned to her blouse. It said, "What is your most precious possession, Ichabod Crane? What would hurt you most to sacrifice? Think on it."

'Jesus,' Joe muttered after a long moment of silence. 'Is this turning into a running communication? She just keeps killing people until we figure out her riddle?'

'And helpless to stop her,' Sally murmured.

Crane stood to his feet, his hands held stiffly behind his back. 'We must find a way to speak to her. Whatever she wants, I am clearly the target.'

'She wants to make you suffer,' Jenny commented, carefully oiling her handgun. 'It's pretty clear she's preying on your most obvious weakness.'

'Which is, might I enquire?'

'You've got a compassionate streak a mile wide. You hate to see others in pain – that's why she's targeting the innocent. This message makes it clear that she's stepping it up. She wants to cause _you_ pain, to take something away from you. "Your most precious possession"?

'It's pretty obvious really,' Abbie said quietly. 'It's me. It's her twisted way of telling you that she wants me. You killed her to save my life – therefore, I'm "your most precious possession". I'm pretty sure that next message will set out her demands.'

Crane began to agitatedly pace the floor. 'Under no circumstances. Under no circumstances will I allow that to happen. I'd give myself up first.'

Abbie gave a sardonic smile. 'And rob her of what she wants the most – to watch you suffer?'

'Then what do we do?' Joe interjected. 'I mean, I'm loving the insight into Katrina's psychotic witch-brain, but how do we stop her?'

'It's not just her though.' Sally stared at her hands as if they were the culprits. 'She has the most powerful coven in the history of Sleepy Hollow to help her. Even at my strongest, I can't compete with them.'

'Maybe we're looking at this in the wrong way,' Abbie mused. 'We've got one witch, two Witnesses, and two direct descendants of Grace Dixon. Who knows what we can conjure if we put our minds to it?'

'And what am I, chopped liver?' Joe quipped, releasing some of the tension in the room.

'No, Joe. Something tells me that those witches won't be expecting what we've got planned for you.'

* * *

The third body was found just before dawn, this time in the main street of the town. A note was found in the front pocket of the old man's blazer, declaring, "By now you will know what I desire. Come to the place where you and I first made our vows by the crest of the full moon. Deceive me, and the innocent will continue to suffer."

Crane instantly knew the place Katrina meant. It was not the Old Dutch Church where they were married – it was a small glade just south of the town where they had plighted their troth under the shade of a sprawling oak tree. His heart twisted with grief at the once-happy memory being exploited for Katrina's evil purposes. These sick pranks were evidence that the woman he had once loved was gone for ever, and in her place was an irredeemable monster that he knew he must destroy.

He would never hand Abbie over – as much as he knew anything, he was sure of that. The faintest thought of losing her caused him actual bodily pain. It was overwhelmingly clear to him that the pure friendship that he had once felt for Abbie had blossomed into something else. It was a revelation that left him light-headed and giddy, but at the same time, the truth was so obvious that he felt like a blind fool for not seeing it before.

What he felt for her was deeper than physical desire, yet more covetous than mere friendship. He wanted her desperately, but he knew that he would sacrifice everything to secure her happiness. As they staked out the woods in preparation for their confrontation with Katrina that night, it was as if he was looking at Abbie for the first time. Her beauty was more radiant than starlight and even more unattainable.

It struck him with some force that even if she felt the same way about him, his association with Katrina might be too painful for her to bear. It wounded him to think of how much trouble and heartache he had unwittingly introduced into her life. Despite their destiny, their bond and everything that seemed foretold and inevitable about their partnership, he could not deny that his marriage to Katrina had set a train of anguish and trouble in motion.

'Hey Crane.'

He was jolted from his reverie to the realisation that Abbie was gazing at him expectantly. They were crouched amongst the undergrowth on the other side of the glade, waiting for Katrina's arrival. 'Forgive me, Lieutenant. What did you say?'

'I said, are you ready for this?'

'Fear not, Lieutenant. I shall be – as you say – on my game.'

'That's not what I meant, Ichabod.'

Crane started at hearing her call him by his Christian name. He was only able to recall one other occasion – that cursed day when she made her fateful decision to remain in Purgatory in Katrina's place.

'Whatever Katrina has she's become – she used to be your wife. I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now.'

'Lieutenant… Abbie…' He stared into the distance, terrified of meeting her eyes. 'No matter what may appear tonight, the woman I once loved is gone forever. All that matters to me is you.'

He paused, the words dying on his tongue, wishing desperately he could unsay what he had just said. Before he could torture himself further, Abbie was in his arms, her lips pressed against his, clutching him desperately. He dared not question if this was a dream, all he knew was that her body felt like heaven. All thoughts of being a gentleman disappeared in a haze of need. He felt her tongue graze his and a groan sounded deep in his throat.

The noise seemed to waken Abbie from her frenzy. She leaned away from him, her eyes glazed.

'Sorry,' she whispered sheepishly.

'Don't be,' Crane replied with adoration. 'You've made me a very happy man indeed.'

'We should…' Abbie dissolved into fits of giggles.

'Focus on the matter at hand?' Crane suggested, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He felt elated, confident that they could overcome any danger that came their way. Nothing mattered to him but the thought that Abbie might be his.

A twig snapped somewhere nearby, alerting them to another presence among the trees. They crouched down further, silently surveying the glade. The full moon briefly emerged from behind the clouds to reveal the pale form of Katrina standing in a clearing below them.

Crane gave Abbie a long look, full of unspoken meaning before they prepared to approach.

They each silently prayed that their friends had done their job properly; otherwise they would be walking straight into an ambush.

'Katrina.'

Crane's heart rent at the sight of what used to be his wife, her face illuminated by the moonlight. He recognised the beauty that had once made his breath stop, but it did not take long to realise that something was horribly amiss. Her skin was translucent, the prominent veins beneath making his flesh crawl with disgust.

A smile contorted her face as she regarded him. 'My love, I'm so pleased you remembered this place. We were so happy here… once.'

'I tire of your games, Katrina. I have come here, now state your business.'

Her forehead gathered into a mass of confused wrinkles. 'Have you not guessed what I seek? I had hoped that my last missive was explicit enough, but if you need further clues…'

'I know what you seek Katrina. Now state your terms.'

Katrina smiled again – a sickly rictus of insanity. 'My terms are simple, Ichabod. Hand over your dearest, darling Abbie and I will refrain from killing your townsfolk.'

A surge of anger swelled in Crane's breast. He felt a powerful temptation to wrap his hands around her slender neck, but he knew that given her newfound power, the gesture would be pointless. 'You imagine I will allow you and your coven to torment her at your leisure? How little you think of me, Katrina.'

'Torment her?' To her credit, Katrina looked almost scandalised at this accusation. 'How little you think of _me_ , Ichabod. No, we want Abbie to join us. Her magical lineage is strong – though not witch-born, she has vast untapped reserves of power. Who knows what we can achieve with a Mills on our side?'

She examined his face to see the effect of her declaration. Crane struggled to keep his expression impassive, to deny her the pleasure of watching his pain.

'Where is she, might I ask? I hope you don't plan some jape at my expense, Ichabod. My sisters are close by, be assured. They will take your disobedience very ill.'

Abbie appeared from the darkness. 'I'm here, Katrina. And I wouldn't put too much faith in your sisters – they're otherwise occupied.'

She watched as Katrina's expression wavered from the smug look of triumph to barest hint of doubt. Earlier that day, Sally had used a locator spell to find the Four who Speak as One. The mystical power that they generated made her task a simple one – they were hiding in an abandoned mine on the outskirts of town, waiting for Katrina's instructions. Using a binding spell recorded in Grace Dixon's journal, Sally, Abbie and Jenny were able to exploit the coven's power to render them immobile.

'I had hoped that you would be more amenable, Abigail Mills.'

Crane noticed a shrillness to her voice that he had not noticed before. Her face suddenly appeared haggard and strained. It was clear that the magical energies that she was invoking to stay alive were sapping whatever life force remained in her.

'I'm afraid you'll never find me amenable, Katrina. I'll fight you to my last breath, if necessary.'

Rage flared in Katrina's blood-shot eyes, making her appearance truly terrifying. 'And how shall you challenge me?' she roared. 'I am Katrina Van Tassel, heir to the most powerful witch bloodline on this continent. I have come back from the grave to wreak my revenge on both of you. Tell me what weapon you have at your disposal to oppose me?'

'You may be all those things, but we have something that you will never have.'

'And what is that?' Katrina laughed with open mockery. 'Love? You think your bond with your fellow Witness can protect you? Or is it friendship? Do your friends lurk in the trees, hoping to ambush me? I and my sisters will ravage you all and leave your corpses to the crows!'

'No,' Abbie smiled simply. 'We have a wendigo.'


	11. Chapter 11

Joe carefully folded his freshly-laundered clothes, enjoying the familiar routine that had shaped his army life. The repetition of his actions soothed his mind, shutting out the blood-soaked images that flashed through his mind.

His memories of the previous night were fractured, but his dreams were as clear as glass. The horror was made more real because for the first time, he was able to recall his time as the wendigo. Katrina's face haunted him – frozen in a mask of terror and pain as he tore her limb from limb.

He awoke in the cell with Sally crouched beside him, her brow creased with concern and tenderness. She explained that the coven had disappeared without a trace – momentarily adrift without Katrina to guide them. Now they were infinitely more dangerous because they were unpredictable.

It would be a waiting game now; they would be tasked with constant vigilance until the Four Who Speak as One decided to regroup and strike back. For now it was over – they could take a breath, take stock of everything that they had gained and lost since this began.

'I killed Katrina. Crane's wife.' His voice was hollow.

'That thing – that wasn't Katrina,' Sally replied. 'She died a long time ago. It was an act of mercy.'

He held her chastely until the morning, assuring himself that it was just comfort he was seeking. It wasn't – it was absolution.

When Sheriff Reyes appeared at his front door that morning, Joe had the strangest feeling that everything was about to come full circle. She wore a grim expression, confirming the awful clenched sensation in the pit of his stomach.

'I came here regarding the investigation into the murder of Caleb Shriker.'

For a moment, Joe had no idea who she was talking about, until it all came flooding back – Sally's kidnapping, the woods, and then the screaming…

'Since his death, Shriker has been subject to a major F.B.I. investigation into his extensive criminal enterprises. He was a very bad person, and many on the force would be happy to see the case disappear, but I can't square my conscience with letting his death go unprosecuted.'

She sighed deeply, a troubled look painting her features.

'I was there that night in the woods, and I saw what you did, what you became.'

Joe felt fear invading his bones like chilly fingers and his body became rigid as if anticipating a blow. She knew he was the wendigo – she had seen him that night.

'I feel like I owe you a heads-up,' Reyes announced. 'You're about to be charged with his murder. The arrest warrant will be executed at 9 p.m. tonight.'

Joe felt as if he was in freefall, as if the world had suddenly shifted beneath his feet. The clear image of Sally's face appeared in his mind, and with it came an overwhelming feeling of loss he could only compare to the moment he learned of his father's death.

There was a long silence before Sheriff Reyes spoke again. 'I know you don't have much family left in Sleepy Hollow. Your mother moved away when your father was killed, and your brother made himself scarce shortly after. If you have someone special here – a girlfriend for example – you need to break it off cleanly. Let her know that you're not coming back – not ever.'

Joe military instincts immediately kicked in and he began strategizing what he needed to do in order to survive. He knew that he would have to leave the country in the next few hours – fly south and try to make it across the border to Mexico before the warrant was issued.

His stomach dropped when he realised that he couldn't take the risk of seeing Abbie or Crane or Jenny, even to say goodbye. Even worse, he knew that he would have to hurt Sally, and it was more than he could bear.

* * *

Crane awoke from the fog of sleep, his eyes straining against the glare of sunlight that leaked through the slats of his blinds. His body felt heavy and sluggish; it took but a moment to remember everything that had happened the previous night – Katrina's demise and its aftermath, and then returning to Abbie's house by as if by some unspoken agreement.

He was reassured by the steady rhythm of Abbie's breaths as she lay in his arms. Everything had been so frenetic, their emotions heightened to such a pitch that they all but rent clothes to pieces as they undressed each other.

He recalled her soft, breathy sighs as she whispered his name – sounds of relief and satisfied longing. He remembered the unrestrained delight he felt at feeling her lips mesh with his, her body so soft and pliant under his hands.

Desire that had hatched upon first sight – fostered upon a fated alliance and nurtured by a partnership that united them against all enemies – became a holy ritual where love and longing was made flesh.

'Crane,' Abbie murmured softly in her sleep, tightening her grip around his neck as if seeking to protect him from some unseen attacker.

'Sleep, love,' he whispered. 'I'm always here.'

He awoke later to the sensation of soft lips pressing insistently against the skin of his neck, trailing kisses up his jawline before gently biting his chin.

She grinned cheekily as he gasped in surprise at her impertinent gesture.

'You don't think I'm done with you yet, do you?' she whispered, running her fingers down his chest, sending a shudder right though him.

* * *

Sally stumbled away from Joe's door, reeling with disbelief. She felt numb, unable to make sense of Joe's behaviour. He had been so cold – so unfeeling as he uttered those dreadful words.

'This thing with us – it was all wrong from the start. I'm really grateful for what you did for me, but I think it's better if we don't see each other anymore.'

For a few seconds she thought he was joking, but then the horrible realisation set in. 'But why?' she replied childishly, as if there was any reason that would satisfy her.

Mercifully, he did not reply.

'Then you don't love me? Not even a little?' Again she spoke with the innocence of a child, but then she had never been in love before, never had her heart broken.

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes as he did.

 _The coward._

She drew a deep breath, willing herself not to cry in from of him. 'That's okay. You never said you did. That would've been horrible – to lie like that.'

To his credit, he looked abashed by her words. Sally mustered enough dignity to leave without throwing herself at him, which she was sorely tempted to do.

She found herself at the Tavern, longing to get blind drunk before she remembered that she wouldn't be able scam a drink from the daytime staff. Her twenty-first birthday lay stubbornly in the future, and yet she felt old and tired.

'Sally Chang, isn't it?'

The sunlight dazzled her eyes – it took a few moments to discern the face of Sheriff Reyes outlined against the sky. 'Can I help you, Sheriff?'

There was a strange, distant look on the older woman's face. After years in foster care, Sally had grown accustomed to reading expressions in figures of authority – it had helped her handle volatile moods more than once. She saw a twinge of discomfort that humanised the Sheriff and made her feel as if she might be actually offering help.

'I didn't tell you this. I have no reason to tell you this, save for the fact that my perception of reality has been shaken somewhat in the last few weeks.' She let out a shaky breath.

'You might want to pack a bag.'

* * *

Joe pulled over at a service station at the outskirts of Laredo, Texas. He had flown to Austin and rented a car which he planned to abandon on the other side of the border. It was just before six, and he would have to be well clear of the checkpoints before the warrant was executed. For now, he needed supplies, food, water, a shaving kit and a road map. More than that, he needed to prepare a plausible story for the border guards. He was planning to spend the weekend drinking beer and enjoying the sunshine before returning to Quantico.

On impulse, he bought a pair of sunglasses before returning outside to load up the car and fill it with gas. His heart nearly stopped when he saw Sally, leaning against the hood with a smug expression on her face.

'Be honest, you have to be impressed that I found you.'

He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her around the side of the service station. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he hissed, blood pumping in his ears. He felt the wendigo growling deep within him, daring the world to call it forth.

'You didn't think you were going to just run away, did you?'

'Damn it, Sally…'

'And leave me to suffer the consequences?'

That stopped Joe in his tracks.

'The police know we're together – the moment you leave they'll haul me in for questioning, probably put surveillance on me every minute of the day. I won't be able to move from here to there without somebody watching me. Didn't think about that when you made your noble sacrifice, did you?'

'What do you plan to do?' Joe whispered in surrender. 'Go on the run with me, never be able to come home again?'

'Yeah, that's exactly what I plan to do.'

'Why?'

She looked at him for what seemed the first time, without fear or evasion. 'You know why.'

For a few moments, it was unclear how he was going to react. She flinched as he reached forward, only relaxing when she felt herself being pulled into his arms.

'God, I love you so much.'

Even though it was clear to him that the life he knew was ending and that everything was fraught with uncertainty – that he would never join the FBI or see Abbie and Jenny again, that he was leaving them to fight the coven by themselves – for the first time since his nightmare began, he felt the beginnings of hope.

'Come on, we have to get across the border.'

The End


End file.
